by James Luceno
The spiraling chase up the gravity well and the twisting transit to the cruiser had left the ship battered. The sublight engine was whining in protest, the ray shield dangerously diminished, the minimal weapons depleted. Uncertain as to where Grievous had stashed Palpatine, the pilots of the trio of starfighters were being careful with their bolts, but every hit was inflicting further damage to the stabilizers and shield generator. Plasma fire from the Invisible Hand’s point-defense weapons had only prompted them to close ranks with the shuttle, using it in the same way Grievous was using Palpatine—as a kind of screen.
The mechanical voice of a control droid aboard the cruiser issued from the shuttle’s cockpit speakers. “General, do you wish us to deploy tri-fighters against the starfighters?”
“Negative,” Grievous said. “Save them for when we actually need them. Continue cannon fire.”
“General, our computations suggest that continued close-range fire could subject the shuttle to fratricide.”
Grievous didn’t doubt it. As it was, the hull was blistering with each salvo from the cruiser.
“Ready the forward tractor beam,” he said after a moment. “Fire a disabling burst at all four of us. Then utilize the beam to ensnare what remains of the shuttle and draw it into the docking bay—even if that means dragging a starfighter in, as well. Have battle droids standing by.”
“Yes, General.”
Grievous swiveled his seat toward Palpatine, who was strapped into an acceleration couch between two MagnaGuards. The Supreme Chancellor had been unexpectedly compliant since leaving the bunker, at times brazen enough to take Grievous to task for his less-than-perfect piloting skills.
You fool, you’ll get us both killed! Palpatine had barked at him repeatedly.
What did Palpatine think was going to become of him after they reached the Invisible Hand? Grievous had asked himself. Was he under the delusion that Lords Sidious and Tyranus would simply hold him for ransom? Did it somehow escape him that he wasn’t likely to see Coruscant again?
Once more, Grievous questioned the needless complexity of the Sith Lords’ plan. Why not kill Palpatine sooner rather than later? If he hadn’t been under orders …
You take orders? Palpatine had mocked him.
Which of them was the lesser, indeed?
“Strap in, Chancellor,” Grievous said now. “This could get rough.”
Palpatine sneered. “With you at the controls, I’m certain it will.”
No sooner did Grievous swing back to the viewport than gouts of fire spewed from the Invisible Hand’s forward cannons. Two of the starfighter pilots must have sensed something coming, because they all but glued themselves to the shuttle. Rocked by the burst, the shuttle lost portions of itself to space, and all systems shut down. One of the starfighters was blown away, but the other two had lost little more than their wings.
The shuttle reeled as the tractor beam took hold of it.
With it came the pair of starfighters.
Grievous considered ordering that the docking bay be purged of atmosphere. Somewhere aboard the shuttle there would be extravehicular gear Palpatine could don. But with life support failing, Palpatine was already in enough trouble.
Grievous would just have to deal with the starfighter pilots when the ships were released from the beam.
The three were scarcely through the docking bay’s containment field when explosive charges flung the canopies from the starfighters and two Jedi Knights leapt to the deck, lightsabers ablaze, deflecting blaster bolts from battle droids as they raced for the shuttle. Before the shuttle had even settled to the deck, one of the Jedi had plunged his glowing blue blade straight through the starboard hatch.
Hurrying aft through thickening smoke, Grievous caught sight of Palpatine’s expression of derision.
“Surprise, surprise, General.”
Grievous halted just long enough to say: “We’ll see who’s surprised.”
He saw the lightsaber blade retract. By the time he had shouldered through the hatch onto the landing platform the Jedi had moved to either side. Even while continuing to parry blaster bolts, they surged at him, engaging the two lightsabers he drew from his cloak.
The duel raged through the hold. Battle droids lowered their weapons for fear of hitting Grievous. These Jedi were more proficient than the ones he had fought in the bunker, but not skilled enough to challenge him. The four blades seared through the recycled air, washing the burnished bulkheads with harsh light and outsized shadows.
Flanking him, the Jedi rushed in.
Grievous waited until the last instant to command his legs to raise him up several centimeters. Then he extended his lightsabers straight out from his sides, angled slightly downward. Slipping past the flashing strikes of his opponents, Grievous’s blades pierced the chests of both. They fell away from him, faces contorted in surprise, of the sort only sudden death could bring.
Several battle droids hastened forward, almost prancing in eagerness.
“Jettison the bodies,” Grievous instructed. “Choose a place where the Republic can have a good look at them.”
Diminutive between two MagnaGuards, Palpatine was waiting at the foot of the shuttle boarding ramp.
“Take him,” Grievous said.
Lifting Palpatine by his armpits, the combat droids followed Grievous through the cruiser, and at last through an oval of opalescent portal into a large cabin space containing a situation table surrounded by chairs. Grievous ordered the guards to set the Supreme Chancellor down in a swivel chair at the head of the table and to shackle his hands.
“Welcome to the general’s quarters,” he said while he did input at a console built into the table. Shortly the bulkhead behind the swivel chair became a hologrammic display, showing the battle of Coruscant. The flick of a final switch summoned a stalked, eyeball-shaped holocam from the tabletop.
“You’re about to make an unscheduled appearance on the HoloNet, Chancellor,” Grievous said. “I apologize for not providing a mirror, hairbrush, and cosmetics, so that you might at least camouflage some of your fear.”
Palpatine’s voice was sinister when he spoke. “You can display me, but I won’t speak.”
Grievous nodded at what seemed an obvious statement. “I’ll display you, but you won’t speak. Is that understood?”
“You will do all the talking.”
“That’s correct. I will do all the talking.”
“Very good.”
For no apparent reason, Grievous felt uncertain. “Lord Tyranus will soon be here to take charge of you.”
Palpatine smiled without showing his teeth. “Then I am assured of being greatly entertained.”
From aboard his cruiser, General Grievous addressed a captive audience of trillions of beings. His frightening visage dominating every frequency of the HoloNet, he delivered a message of gloom and doom, forecasting the end of Palpatine’s reign, the long-delinquent downfall of the corrupt Republic, a bright new future for all the worlds and all the species that had been enslaved to it …
Crushed in among Nicandra Plaza’s suddenly silent multitude, Bail touched Mon Mothma’s arm in a gesture that promised his imminent return, and began to writhe his way to the edge of the crowd. Gazing around, he spied Padmé standing with C-3PO, arms cradled against her, elbows in the palms of her hands, her face raised to the light-splintered sky.
Hastening to her, he called her name, and she turned from the handrail into his comforting embrace, her tears wetting the front of his tunic.
“Padmé, listen to me,” he said, stroking her hair. “The Separatists have nothing to gain by killing Palpatine. He’ll be all right.”
“What if you’re wrong, Bail? What if they do kill him, and power falls into the hands of Mas Amedda and the rest of that gang? That doesn’t worry you? What if Alderaan is next on Grievous’s list of worlds to attack?”
“Of course it worries me. I fear for Alderaan. But I have faith that won’t happen. This attack will put an end to
the Outer Rim sieges. The Jedi will be back where they belong, here in the Core. And as for Mas Amedda, he won’t last a week. There are thousands of Senators who think as we do, Padmé. We’ll rally them into a force to be reckoned with. We’ll put the Republic back on course, even if we have to fight tooth and nail to overcome anyone who opposes us.” He put his hand under her chin to lift her face toward his. “We’ll get through this, no matter what.”
She sniffled; smiled lightly. “If I could keep my concerns focused only on the future of the Republic …”
Bail held her gaze, and nodded in understanding. “Padmé, if it’s any comfort to you, please know that my wife and I would do anything to protect you and those close to you.”
“Thank you, Bail,” she said. “With all my heart, thank you.”
On Utapau, an Outer Rim world of vast sinkholes and lizard mounts, Viceroy Nute Gunray watched a grainy HoloNet image of General Grievous lower the boom on Coruscant.
Had he been wrong to underestimate the cyborg? Might this war actually end with the Republic vanquished? It was almost too much to contemplate: unrestricted trade from Core to Outer Rim, undreamed of wealth, unlimited possessions …
Gunray glanced at Shu Mai, Passel Argente, San Hill, and the rest, a backslapping fellowship all of a sudden. Smiling broadly—for the first time in several years—he joined them in celebration.
In his quarters in the Temple, Yoda watched a HoloNet feed that showed the bodies of two Jedi drifting in space, close to the flagship of the Separatist fleet. The corners of his mouth pulled down in sadness, he turned to the comlink.
“See them, I do.”
Mace’s voice rumbled from the speaker. “If we can ever break through this fighter screen, we’ll storm the cruiser.”
“Kill the Supreme Chancellor, Grievous will.”
“I don’t think so. He’s had plenty of chances already.”
“Wait, then, to hear the Separatists’ demands, we should.”
“The Senate will give away Coruscant to effect Palpatine’s release.”
“Worse the situation will be if the Supreme Chancellor dies. Fall, the Republic will.”
Mace fell silent for a moment. Yoda saw him in the cockpit of the cruiser he and Kit had piloted off Coruscant. “What should we do?”
“To the Force, look for guidance. Accept what fate has placed before us. For now, prevent Grievous’s fleet from escaping to hyperspace, you must. Recalled, many Jedi and others have been. Turn, the battle will, when they arrive.”
“Master Yoda, we were close to capturing Sidious. I could feel it.”
“Knew this, Sidious did. Hiding, he is.”
No longer on Coruscant, Yoda thought.
“We’ll pin Grievous here, like the vermin he is.”
Mace severed the transmission, and Yoda tottered to the windows. Western Coruscant was engulfed by darkness; the sky above, splintered by rabid light. Calling his lightsaber to his hand, he ignited the blade and waved it through the air.
Perilous the future will be. A cause for grave concern.
But the battle in local space wasn’t the end.
Beginning, the final act was!
Dooku had ordered the droid pilot of the sloop to revert from hyperspace for a brief time at the planet Nelvaan. Should any ships among the Republic battle group at Tythe plot his escape course, it would appear that Nelvaan was his destination. The sloop’s Geonosian technology would mask the fact that he had jumped almost immediately to Coruscant to join Grievous, and to play out the final act of the drama Sidious had composed.
The abduction of Palpatine had not only abbreviated the search for him, but also allowed Sidious to escape Coruscant undetected. But those events had been minor acts. Sidious would never have allowed the Jedi to expose him. And Palpatine was hardly the prize he appeared to be.
The greater prize, Sidious had told Dooku during their most recent communication, was Anakin Skywalker.
“Long have you watched him,” Dooku had said, repeating words Sidious himself had spoken.
“Longer than you know, Lord Tyranus. Longer than you know. And the time has come to test him again.”
“His skills, my lord?”
“The depth of his anger. His willingness to go beyond the Force, as the Jedi know it, and to call on the power of the dark side. General Grievous will activate a special beacon that will call Skywalker and Kenobi back to Coruscant, and onto the stage we will set for them.”
But not to capture them.
“You will duel them,” Sidious had said. “Kill Kenobi. His only purpose is to die and, in so doing, ignite young Skywalker to tap the depths of his fear and rage. Should you defeat Skywalker easily, then we will know that he is not prepared to serve us. Perhaps he never will be prepared. Should he by some fluke best you, however, I will control the outcome to spare you any unnecessary embarrassment, and we will have gained a powerful ally. But above all you must make the contest appear real, Lord Tyranus.”
“I will treat it as if it were my crowning achievement,” Dooku had promised.
Hyperspace awaited.
“To Coruscant,” he told FA-4 from his comfortable chair in the sloop’s main hold.
And with that, the ship jumped.
The two starfighters sat side by side in the launching bay, only a few meters separating them, engines warming, droids in their sockets, cockpit canopies raised.
Neither pilot wore a helmet, so Anakin could hear Obi-Wan plainly when he shouted: “For all the jinks and jukes you’ve taken me through, there’s no one else I’d rather fly with.”
Anakin canted his head and smiled. “It’s about time you admitted it. Can I take that to mean you’ll follow my lead without question?”
“To the best of my ability,” Obi-Wan said. “I may not always be able to remain at your wing, but I won’t be far off, and I’ll always have your back.”
“When I call for help, you’ll come speeding to the rescue.”
“The day you call for help, I’ll know that we’re both in over our heads.”
Anakin adopted a serious look. “Obi-Wan, you don’t know how many times you’ve already rescued me.”
Obi-Wan swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. “Then whatever lies ahead for us shouldn’t be a problem.”
Anakin laughed lightly. “Who’ll restore peace to the galaxy if we don’t?”
Obi-Wan returned a tight-lipped nod. “At least you said we.”
They lowered the starfighters’ canopies and engaged the repulsors, lifting off, rotating 180 degrees, and easing through the launching bay’s transparent containment field.
Flying abreast, all but sharing a wing, they enabled their thrusters and banked away from the massive ship. Accelerating on columns of brilliant blue energy, sluing slightly to port, slightly sinister, they coupled with their hyperdrive rings and disappeared into the long night.
[TO BE CONCLUDED]
the author respectfully dedicates this adaptation
To George Lucas
with gratitude for the dreams of a generation,
and of generations to come,
for twenty-eight years, and counting …
thank you, sir.
This story happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it.
It is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst.
It is the story of the end of an age.
A strange thing about stories—
Though this all happened so long ago and so far away that words cannot describe the time or the distance, it is also happening right now. Right here.
It is happening as you read these words.
This is how twenty-five millennia come to a close. Corruption and treachery have crushed a thousand years of peace. This is not just the end of a republic; night is falling on civilization itself.
&nb
sp; This is the twilight of the Jedi.
The end starts now.
THE AGE OF HEROES
The skies of Coruscant blaze with war.
The artificial daylight spread by the capital’s orbital mirrors is sliced by intersecting flames of ion drives and punctuated by starburst explosions; contrails of debris raining into the atmosphere become tangled ribbons of cloud. The nightside sky is an infinite lattice of shining hairlines that interlock planetoids and track erratic spirals of glowing gnats. Beings watching from rooftops of Coruscant’s endless cityscape can find it beautiful.
From the inside, it’s different.
The gnats are drive-glows of starfighters. The shining hairlines are light-scatter from turbolaser bolts powerful enough to vaporize a small town. The planetoids are capital ships.
The battle from the inside is a storm of confusion and panic, of galvened particle beams flashing past your starfighter so close that your cockpit rings like a broken annunciator, of the bootsole shock of concussion missiles that blast into your cruiser, killing beings you have trained with and eaten with and played and laughed and bickered with. From the inside, the battle is desperation and terror and the stomach-churning certainty that the whole galaxy is trying to kill you.
Across the remnants of the Republic, stunned beings watch in horror as the battle unfolds live on the HoloNet. Everyone knows the war has been going badly. Everyone knows that more Jedi are killed or captured every day, that the Grand Army of the Republic has been pushed out of system after system, but this—
A strike at the very heart of the Republic?
An invasion of Coruscant itself?
How can this happen?
It’s a nightmare, and no one can wake up.
Live via HoloNet, beings watch the Separatist droid army flood the government district. The coverage is filled with images of overmatched clone troopers cut down by remorselessly powerful destroyer droids in the halls of the Galactic Senate itself.
